


Bulls

by northernmongrel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Blood, Broken Noses, F/M, Gabe is an old man, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Talon operations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 16:39:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10948503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernmongrel/pseuds/northernmongrel
Summary: Sombra breaks her nose.





	Bulls

**Author's Note:**

> pointless rambling. I can't wait till May is over and June starts. ugh,,,,

He pinches the bridge of Sombra’s nose between his thumb and forefinger. Firm and deliberate; he doesn't falter. 

 

“Breath in. Two—one.” he rotates at the wrist. Theres a snap and a grind--hard bone against rubbery cartilage. He must have ruptured a clot because blood starts to flood down his forearm, dripping from his elbow. Warm and trickling. 

 

“ _Mierda_.” Sombra snarls, her upper lip raised. She cups a hand over his freshly reset nose, whirling away from Gabriel. She spits blood from her mouth. 

 

“Had to be done.” Gabriel replies, walking over to the bathroom sink to rinse his hands. The water circle down the drain, the colour of rusted iron. He snags a towel, patting the front and back of his hands dry. 

 

“—You could have been nicer about it.” Sombra groans. She has her head tilted downwards so the blood flows down her chin, not the back of her throat. 

 

Gabriel shrugs, “It won’t set crooked.”

 

“Amélie has a softer hand.” Sombra seethes past a whimper.

 

Gabriel offers the younger woman a damp cloth. Sombra takes it with a huff—the mutterings of Spanish curses, and starts to dab at the bridge of her nose. 

 

It really wasn’t _that_ bad. Gabriel has seen worse. The heel of a person’s hand pressed against the nose. With enough force, it could be shoved back into the brain. Sombra had been fortunate enough to take a knee to the face, which was alright. He shot the man’s kneecap off either way.

 

Sombra exits the bathroom, taking the towel with her and Gabriel follows, flicking the light off behind them.

 

Talon has them stationed in The Cape, Simon’s Town. Five years before, Overwatch had started the construction of Watchpoint; Hope. The blueprints had fallen through after the implement of the PETRA’s act, leaving the entire facility deserted. A brilliant glass structure—world class architecture, left to be consumed by the local foliage on the tip of the African continent. The structure eroding from the howling winds that chase up and down the coast. The concrete infrastructure eaten away by the salt-thick humidity. 

 

A tragic story, if not entertaining Gabriel must admit. But that entertainment was ebbing. Their task team has been grounded here for three weeks, tiding it over in asafe-house overlooking the murky waters of False Bay. 

 

The view is tolerable. _Just_. 

 

Sombra stands in front of the freezer, popping ice cubes from a tray. She wraps them up in the damp cloth, applying the cold relief to her nose.

 

“Leave it alone.” Gabriel says, crossing his arms across his chest. He’s in half casual; jeans and an obscure TAC vest. His mask sits atop the kitchen counter—his cloak hung in the closet next to the entrance. 

 

“—Bothering it will make it worse.”

 

“Oh, shut it Gabe. Some of us have a lower pain tolerance.”

 

“Yeah, well. I could always drag you down to the local clinic.” 

 

Sombra sneers, “I’d probably succumb to some horrid disease. Or die waiting in queue… probably the second. Actually.”

 

“Stop your snivelling.”

 

“Stop being such a cantattours old man.”

 

“It’s my job.” he replies blandly. 

 

“ _Oh querido_.” Sombra rolls her eyes, thumbing a lock of hair from her forehead, “You must have had a lot of practice in your younger days.”

 

“My fair share.” Gabriel pulls his shoulders back, popping a kink in the cervical bone of his neck.

 

“That one man you go on and on about. _The cowboy_.” Sombra waves her free hand in the air, fingers fluttering, “He must have been a handful, eh? You must gave reset his nose a dozen times. Or more… which explains a lot.” Sombra trails off, motioning to her own flawless complexion. Pouty lips—delicately arched eyebrows. A giggle escapes her mouth.

 

Gabriel stares at her for a minute. Squinting out the similarities, which he finds to be in pleasant quantity. 

 

“At least he didn’t whine about it.” Gabriel shrugs and surveys his hand; the fingers on his left are cut short. Just above the first joint, they’ve been tapered short after the Zurich incident. Blown off. Bludgeoned to a pulp. He doesn’t care to remember. 

 

But Sombra is sauntering up to him from across he room. She casually laces their fingers together; colourfully painted nails against his deformed appendage, ghostly grey and sickly looking. 

 

She smiles. A flash of white teeth against her warm skin. 

 

“Don’t.”

 

“Don’t what.” Gabriel heaves, the question weary. 

 

“I’m not stupid Gabriel. I can tell when you’re not _really_ here.”

 

“Maybe I’m just sick of your blathering.” he grumbles as if she’s testing his patience.

 

Sombra huffs, tossing the cloth and ice cubes into the sink with a clang, “You’re stuck with me for now Gabe. So suck it up, _botón de oro.”_ she says, rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand. Her fingernail is sharp and glittering turquoise. 

 

Her expression sobers for a brief moment. Gabriel almost doesn’t catch it, but he does. And then she’s tugging her hand away, wriggling her fingers—trademark smirk on his lips. 

 

“Gotta’ go catch the good guys, right Gabe?”

 

“ _Right_.” he replies and starts to reach for his mask across the countertop. 

 

///

 

 

The fruit of their labour sits on the kitchen table. A single paper file; written in longhand and stamped with official seals. The ink even smeared in some places, spoiled by an impatient hand.

 

“Pen and paper. So old fashioned, it’s not even cool.” Sombra shook her head, lip raised in mock disgust, “But job done. Beach time, right Gabe? You promised old man.”

 

And so they’d gone to the beach. A strip of white sand along the west side of False bay, riddled with boulders. The ocean water’s are thick with garbage; something about the local currents that drag in the world's trash. It had gotten worse after the Omnic crisis. 

 

Gabriel tells Sombra not to swim. The younger woman listens, _for once_. So they sit on the white sands further up from the shoreline. Sombra’s wearing a baggy grey t-shirt with a zebra print on the front. She's shed her electronic implants back at the safe house.

 

Gabriel dons his usual hoodie, pulled over his head and a pair of sunglasses to complete the look. 

 

Sombra’s chattering. Her words slipping between Spanish and English. She cracks open a can of cola, taking a sip before passing it to Gabriel.

 

He takes a drink; carbonated sugar stinging the roof of his mouth. He scowls and hands the sweating cola can back to her. 

 

“Has Amélie contacted you since we’ve been stationed here?” Gabriel asks.

 

Sombra shakes her head, “No. Last I heard she’s in Paris enjoying the snow there. I’m very jealous.” she sighs, digging her bare feet into the sand, “Can you tell?”

 

Gabriel snorts in response.

 

“—I do miss her though. A second female presence. She has a certain charm about her…”

 

“She was a French operative. Of course she has charm.” he says, immediately regretting the elaboration. 

 

“Of course. But like, _charm_. You know? A way of putting things. Was she upper class? Back before we started work together.”

 

“You should know that.” he grumbles.

 

Sombra frowns, “Yeah, but I want to hear it from _you_. You worked with her in the past. What was she like.” Sombra rests her chin on her bare knee as if settling down for a good storytelling.

 

Gabriel pauses. He rubs his knuckle down the scrub on his chin; patchy and flecked with grey. But he’s always indulged Sombra. It’s a habit, and a bad one at that. 

 

“She was well spoken. Received her education in the best the Universities in France. England. Canada—” he recites the file.

 

“—Speaks seven different languages. Received her Masters at Oxford. Met Gérard at a fundraising ballet in London. She’s an only child. Might explain why she never had kids.”

 

“Why even ask me.”

 

“Because all that stuff is just intel. What did _you_ think of her.”

 

“She was pleasant.” he exhales, his words hollow on a breath, “Kind hearted.” he adds begrudgingly. 

 

“Sentiments look good on you Gabe.” Sombra teases.

 

Gabriel scowls, running his tongue along the sharp of his canine.

 

“And what about the cowboy?” Sombra continues, twisting her cola can into the sand to keep it cool, “I’m sure you have some _lush_ stories to tell.”

 

“Not him.” Gabriel shakes his head. _Not him._

 

Sombra stares at him for a minute, eye narrowed. But then she shrugs, tilting her head back to better soak up the sun. 

 

“—Alright. But you’re buying the ice-cream later, old man.” she says with a flick of sand.

 

 

 

///

 

The night is humid and sticky. Gabriel’s skin crawling from the temperate weather of The Cape. But he’s still cool to the touch, clammy in spite of the heat. _Never quite right._

 

Sombra is cradled between his pelvic bone and shoulder span. Her tailbone pressed against the front of his sweatpants. A near perfect fit. Her skin is warm against his own.

 

But when Gabriel mouths her clavicle, he can taste salt and soft soap. When he slides his palm down between her legs, he feels wetness. He can trace the scrupulouslyrazored triangle between the jut of her hipbones and he can rub circles over the soft of her stomach. And if he closes his eyes, the cinnamon tasting skin could be someone else entirely. The ghostly whisperings of a man.

 

They dress afterwards. Sombra sliding into an oversized shirt and Gabriel tugging his sweats back on. He wipes away the evidence with tissues, flushing them down the toilet and washes his hands in the sink.

 

Sombra always waits for him in the bed. Lazing against the pillows, reaching out for him as he approaches the bedside. He sinks down onto the mattress with a relived grunt. 

 

_He’s getting too old for this._

 

Sombra teases him relentlessly;

 

“Old man.”

 

“I can hear your bones creak. _Ugh_.”

 

“ _Tómate un minuto_.”

 

He’s done this in the years before. Reset broken noses and entertained intimacy between the sheets. Except it was beer they’d shared on the beach and the sinew of a man wrapped around his waist at night.

Jesse's Spanish had been rusty in comparison, less fluid. But thats something he can bear for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh querido / oh darling  
> botón de oro / buttercup or golden button  
> Tómate un minuto / take a minute


End file.
